


Call It Home

by fictionalaspect, sunsetmog



Series: Call it Home [1]
Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Split, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-31
Updated: 2011-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-25 03:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/fictionalaspect, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon feels like the one fixed thing in his life, the one unchangeable constant that Spencer can rely on even when everything around him is going to shit.</p><p>It just figures that Spencer's going to ruin that, too, when they get back to LA and he makes his move.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call It Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prologue to a [ much longer verse](http://twotinydragons.livejournal.com/), but it can also stand on its own as a complete story. It takes place six months before the events of the main story begin. _Unlike_ the main story, it contains no kink whatsoever, although there is a fair amount of porn. So if kink isn't your thing, enjoy! And if kink _is_ your thing, just wait. More is on the way, we promise.
> 
> Also, thank you to harborshore for the beta! We love you lots and lots ♥

_2009_

"I didn't even know they _did_ safaris at night," Spencer says, lazily sitting up so that he can reach for another beer out of the bucket. He's not drunk, not even close, but he feels kind of buzzed. Nicely buzzed. Good. He feels _good_.

"They do," Shane says, without looking up from his camera. "Night safaris. It's in the name."

"I don't know," Spencer says, and okay, now that he's sitting up, everything's sort of hazy around the edges. Maybe an afternoon in the South African sun with a few buckets of beer means he's more drunk than he thought he was. He's definitely lightheaded. "I figured that the animals would just be sleeping, or whatever."

Brendon grins. "Sleeping or whatever?" he says. "Like, you thought they went to bed when it got dark? Don't you watch the Discovery channel? Some animals stay up after your bedtime, dude."

"Shut up," Spencer says, hitting Brendon in the side. They're sprawled out on the patio loungers around the back of the house, taking over the whole deck with their iPods and the buckets of chilled beer and Spencer's attempt at vacation reading. Brendon keeps making fun of him for his choice of _Snowbound with Mr. Right_ , but it's not like the library at the lodge has a whole lot of options to choose from. Spencer would rather be reading a terrible romance novel than a well-thumbed history of the Belgium political system, that's for damn sure. At least _his_ book has awkward sex scenes that he can read out loud to Brendon and Shane when he's bored.

"Are we all going?" Shane asks, neutrally.

Spencer shoots a glance towards the house. "I think so," he says, because no one's said anything to the contrary and he doesn't think the others have gone anywhere else. As far as he knows, Ryan and Jon and Eric are still hanging out by the pool, smoking up and drinking the rest of the beer, same place they've been all afternoon.

"Yeah," Brendon says, without looking up, "they said at lunchtime that they were going."

"Cool," Shane says, and passes his camera to Brendon. "Hold that a minute. I've just got to find Zack and get my other camera back."

"Sure," Brendon says, but he dumps the camera in Spencer's lap. "Hold that for Shane."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "You're such a dick," he says, but he doesn't mean it. He has his sunglasses on so it isn't like Brendon can see him roll his eyes, anyway. It's kind of Spencer's favorite thing about sunglasses, if he's honest. He can make all the stupid faces he wants at his bandmates and no one will ever know as long as he's stealthy about it.  
When Spencer looks up again, Brendon's watching him from behind his own sunglasses. Sweat's beading on his brow, and his expression is equally unreadable.

"What?" Spencer says, uncomfortably.

"Nothing," Brendon says, shaking his head. "Pass me another beer."

 **—**

The thing about South Africa is that it's really hot during the day, but fucking _freezing_ at night. The safari truck is this weird, long, open-topped thing with a giant spotlight attached to the top, and they're all expected to climb on in and wrap up in blankets to keep warm.

"If we get killed by a lion because we're shining a giant light highlighting just where the fuck we are, B," Spencer says, "then I am going to kill you."

"Hey," Brendon says, making a face. "How come this is suddenly my fault?"

"Everything is your fault," Spencer says, darkly. "Here, give me some of that blanket."

"Get your own," Brendon complains, already tugging his hood up. "I'm cold."

"You're never cold," Spencer tells him, pulling on Brendon's blanket. It's dark and it's cold and Ryan and Jon are sitting together and noticeably not talking to either of them. He makes a face at Zack in the darkness, and Zack makes one right back. "Share. I'm going to die of hypothermia. You don't want that."

"You are not," Brendon says, but he gives up half his blanket anyway, letting Spencer tuck it over his lap. "Hey, you know what we should have brought with us? A _hip-flask_. We could be drinking whisky right now. Jack Daniels. How cool would that be?"

"Well," Spencer says, trying to get comfortable. The blanket isn't really big enough to tuck around the two of them with any room to spare. His thigh is pressed up close to Brendon's, and he wonders if that's why Brendon's babbling, because they're pressed so close. There's nowhere to go except outside the car to be eaten by lions.

"It would be less cool when you started puking because you can't fucking stomach whisky," Spencer says, to distract himself from how he maybe, possibly wishes he could reach over and curl his arm around Brendon's shoulders.

"One time," Brendon says, loudly. "That happened _one time_."

"One fucking gross time," Spencer says. Brendon's leg is hot against his and Spencer can feel his cheeks going pink and warm. He's awkward and uncomfortable, but he doesn't move away. Sometimes Spencer feels like he and Brendon are like magnets; they spin in each other's orbits, pushing in too close and then drawing back just before that invisible line gets crossed. He wonders where that line is tonight.

"One _really_ fucking gross time," Zack says, leaning over the back of the chair in front. "Being puked on by you is not in my job description, dickface."

Brendon rolls his eyes. "Everybody's out to get me," he says, and he pouts because Shane's aiming the camera at his face. "That was one time. I had a stomach bug."

"Yeah, right," Spencer says, lazily elbowing Brendon in the side. Brendon elbows him back, and then makes a face and looks the other way, out into the darkness. Spencer lets out a breath, and doesn't meet Zack's gaze. Instead he looks the other way, wondering if there are any lions or elephants.

"Holy _fuck_ ," he says, after a moment, because there is a motherfucking _giraffe_ about three feet away from the safari vehicle, and there is something stupidly, ridiculously cool about being close enough to touch a wild giraffe.

"Wow," Brendon says, in wonder, and he's leaning over to get a better look, and to grab a picture with his camera. His elbow is resting on Spencer's shoulder, and his breath is warm on Spencer's cheek, and Spencer knows, he _knows_ that if he moved just a couple of inches, he could be sharing breath with Brendon, he could _kiss him_. He and Brendon have been friends for years, and Spencer's been fighting these kind of feelings almost as long, but he's never been so sure as he is right this second that if he turns around and kisses Brendon right now that Brendon will kiss him back. His breath catches, and there's a moment where neither of them move, and Spencer is so conscious of how close Brendon is to him that it's _ridiculous_.

"Fuck," Zack says, from in front of them. "That's a motherfucking _giraffe_."

Brendon snorts, and sits back in his seat. The moment's broken, and Spencer feels almost disappointed at how far Brendon is away from him now. Almost disappointed, but strangely jubilant, because there's no way either of them can deny what just passed between them. Brendon keeps looking over at Spencer, tiny flicks of his eyelashes, like he's trying to keep Spencer in his peripheral vision.

 _It's happening_ , Spencer thinks to himself, and he keeps staring at the giraffe, all lit up in the spotlight beam from the safari truck. _Maybe it's really happening this time._

 **—**

Of all the places that Spencer gets to hang out as part of his band, airports are his least favorite. Endless waiting around on uncomfortable seating with nowhere to go to sleep—, fuck, it's just a recipe for disaster, and this time feels worse than normal. Spencer wants to blame the jetlag and being stuck in each other's space for days, but they've been stuck together in smaller places and for longer without Spencer feeling like he wants to strangle both Ryan and Jon. He's unused to feeling this pissed at Ryan, if he's honest, and right now he wants to get home and he wants to get some fucking sleep and then wake up and not feel like if he ever talks to either of them again it'll be too soon. He knows at least ninety percent of his frustration is just him wanting to be at home and not in this fucking airport, and he's not exactly renowned for being sunshine and light when he's hungover, but there's something tight and tense thrumming beneath his skin and he doesn't know how to make it right.

"Okay," Zack says, dumping his backpack on an uncomfortable plastic seat. "I am going to stay here, and you guys are not going to wander off and get lost and miss the fucking plane, okay? I am too tired to worry about you guys getting on a fucking plane to Zanzibar or Tokyo or where the fuck ever just because I am not following you around for the next two hours."

"Three hours," Shane says, dropping down onto a seat opposite Zack's. He yawns, and rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes. "We have three hours. How come they never make these seats the kind you can actually sleep on?"

"Two hours," Zack repeats. "Seriously. If you're not all back here in two hours' time then I'm going to come after you all and cut your balls off. Then you will all sit your asses down here for an hour and we will get on the flight and fly home and nobody will be lost, okay?"

"Aye, aye, sir," Brendon says, with a grin. Brendon can find a smile even when he's running on empty, and it's sort of amazing. Spencer's not sure he could find a smile right now if someone paid him, and it kind of looks like Ryan's in the same state. Spencer also wishes he could stop staring at Brendon's mouth, but he's too tired to drag his gaze away. Maybe he can just give in and put his sunglasses on, even though they're inside, so that he can just stare all he wants to.

"Okay," Jon says, rolling his shoulders. "I'm going to go find something for Cassie."

"Cassie's going to have the best collection of gifts from airport gift stores ever," Brendon says, with another grin.

 _Seriously,_ Spencer thinks, _how does he do it_? None of them got any sleep the night before, staying up until the sun rose, hanging out and drinking the remains of the beer. Okay, so they weren't all hanging out together or anything—the house was big enough that they could have a party and still not see each other for the whole night - but they were all equally exhausted and Brendon's the only one of them even vaguely looking like a human being right now.

"Yeah," Jon says, with a half-smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "There's got to be some benefit to being away from her so much."

 _Ouch_ , Spencer thinks. Brendon's smile doesn't falter.

"I'll come with you," Ryan says, smoothing down his pants. "Might as well spend this money. I'll never remember to get it changed back."

Time was, Brendon and Spencer would have stood up and gone with them, but neither of them make a move to stand up, and Jon and Ryan don't ask them along.

When they've gone, Spencer lets out a breath.

"You okay, dude?" Zack asks. Zack's a perceptive guy, he knows as well as Spencer does that things are fucking screwed up. Spencer wonders if there's a way out, if it's true that the only way out is through. He wonders if this is even fixable. He's been best friends with Ryan since he was five years old; he's not supposed to feel this angry for this long at his best friend.

"Sure," Spencer lies. The way things are going with the four of them, the break that's happening right in front of them all, it's not just them being bad-tempered on a vacation. It feels like the kind of split that's kind of permanent.

"Okay," Zack says, after a moment. "Are you going to stay here?"

Spencer shrugs. There's a bar over in the corner, in between the McDonalds and the bookstore. He needs a fucking drink. "I need a drink," he says. "Brendon?"

Brendon nods, jumping to his feet. "Right there with you," he says. Spencer breathes a little easier. Brendon feels like the one fixed thing in his life, the one unchangeable constant that Spencer can rely on even when everything around him is going to shit.

It just figures that Spencer's going to ruin that, too, when they get back to LA and he makes his move.

 **—**

Spencer buys them both a beer and they find a table in the back, someplace Spencer can slump down and run his hands through his hair in exhaustion. He forgot to bring something with him to knock him out on the flight, and he wonders if there's a drugstore he can pick something up from. He needs a fucking Xanax, and a change of clothes. There's a stain on his jeans he doesn't recognize.

"So," Brendon says, leg jittering under the table. "Awesome vacation, right?"

"Sure," Spencer agrees, not thinking about how he used to talk to Ryan every day, about how Ryan should be sitting with them right now, but he isn't, because shit is so fucked up between all of them. "This place is so fucking beautiful."

"Right," Brendon agrees, enthusiastically, leg still bouncing. "And you've got seventy-five thousand pictures to prove it."

"Not that many," Spencer says, rolling his eyes. There are a few hundred, okay, and maybe, like, over a thousand, but South Africa has been one of the most beautiful places he's ever been, and there had been _giraffes_. He'd been on fucking safari.

"Seventy-five thousand," Brendon repeats. "Here, give me your camera. Let me take your picture."

"Brendon," Spencer complains. "I look like crap."

Brendon makes a face. "Like that's ever stopped me before. Gimme."

"Hey," Spencer says, but he's already handing over his backpack so Brendon can pull out Spencer's DSLR. He likes it when Brendon takes his picture. He likes being the focus of Brendon's attention, always has, and even if the pictures are terrible, he doesn't care. He feels warm, even through the exhaustion and the rolling tension in his stomach.

"Let me look at you, Spencer Smith," Brendon says, and he ignores the digital screen in favor of looking through the viewfinder, leaning over the table so he can frame his shot. His knee bumps Spencer's under the table, and Spencer doesn't move his leg away.

He swallows, instead, and doesn't look away from the camera. Brendon stays still, and Spencer wonders what he looks like through the lens. He knows what Brendon looks like. He has hundreds of pictures of Brendon, taken over the years. He feels like he's been watching him forever.

"Brendon—" Spencer says, awkwardly. His mouth is dry, and his knee is still touching Brendon's. "I know, like—everything's kind of screwed up." He isn't going to let this slide anymore. He doesn't think he _can_. Suddenly it's now or never, and if Spencer doesn't say something he's not sure he's going to be able to man up enough to do it when they get back to LA. Everything's such a mess, and Spencer really just needs to get this out of his system before they get on the damn plane.

"I don't know. You can punch me if you want," Spencer says, after a few minutes where Brendon's just staring at him blankly and waiting for him to continue. He really fucking hopes that Brendon doesn't want to do that, that Spencer hasn't been reading the last few weeks and months wrong.

"Why would I want to punch you?" Brendon says.

"This is like, I don't know. When we get back home. I'm not—" he stops, because he isn't making any sense. Brendon presses the shutter button, and Spencer thinks, _this isn't the moment I want to record_.

"I want to—" Fuck, this isn't how he imagined this going down.

"You are making exactly no sense," Brendon says, grinning at him slightly as he lowers the camera. "I can't decide if you need to drink more or less, dude. How hungover _are_ you?"

"You and me," he says, finally, hoping Brendon gets it. "I want you and me. Like—like that."

Brendon's knee jerks against Spencer's. His eyes are suddenly very wide. "Oh," he says, putting the camera down on the table.

Spencer nods. "I'm thinking, maybe, you could tell me if there's going to be face punching."

Brendon shakes his head. "No face punching," he says, and he sounds a little hoarse. His eyes are bright. That feels like it might be a good sign. "Definitely no face punching."

Spencer's stomach feels like he's just ridden a rollercoaster, all upside down and inside out. He wishes he was less tired. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Brendon says, and his leg is jiggling again, foot against the table leg, making the drinks shake. "Yeah, when we get home. That'd be, uh. That'd be good."

"Okay," Spencer says, and he feels curiously light, all of a sudden. And short of breath. He bites his lip to keep from smiling, and right now he can't remember why it felt so impossible ten minutes ago. He keeps staring at Brendon's mouth. "Really?"

Brendon nods. "Yeah," he says, again, his leg still pressed up against Spencer's under the table. "Really."

 **—**

"I used to have a phone," Brendon says—mumbles, really—for the sixth time. "I really, really did, I had it in the airport, I had it on the plane—"

Spencer rubs at the space between his eyelids. He's standing in Brendon's living room and he hasn't slept in twelve hours, at least, and before that was the flight and before _that_ was the party, and if Brendon doesn't stop unpacking his suitcase in the middle of the house he might actually kill him.

"I'm too tired for this," Spencer tells the house at large. Brendon doesn't respond. He's moving slowly, picking up one thing at a time and shaking it out, tossing it over his shoulder when he's done. Spencer doesn't know why they're standing here. They're home, or at least they're in Brendon's home, which is Spencer's temporary home too, until they figure out all of their band shit. There is no reason for them to be standing here in the living room when they could be _sleeping._

"Brendon," Spencer says, catching his wrist. "Brendon. Just—stop, okay?"

"I can't lose that fucking phone," Brendon says, starting to sound a little freaked out. "Do you know how many—if someone got a hold of it, shit, Pete's number is in there, and _Ashlee_ , and everyone we fucking know, and if a fan found it, they'd have everyone's number, and it would be all my fault, and Ryan and Jon—"

"Okay, stop," Spencer says, tugging on Brendon's wrist, because he knows that tone and that tone is Brendon starting to crack at the edges, moving beyond "rational worry" to "everything is ruined forever and everyone will hate me." It doesn't happen often, but Spencer's seen it enough to know that it usually comes at the tail-end of a serious bender and a week of sleep deprivation, both of which could definitely apply to the trip they just took.

"Brendon," Spencer says, crouching down next to him, because if he sits on the floor he's not getting up again. "It's going to be okay. We're fucking exhausted. I promise you your phone is in here somewhere, and if it isn't Zack can call the company tomorrow have them wipe it, or something. I don't know. Can they do that with phones?" Spencer pauses. He has no idea. It seems logical. "Whatever," he continues. "They will perform some crazy magic on it and it's going to be okay."

"Okay," Brendon says. He pauses, takes a deep breath. Spencer watches as his chest rises and falls. He thinks Brendon might be shaking, just a little.

"Okay," Brendon says again, and then he opens his eyes again and he's back to being—whatever. Brendon. Brendon who is always so sunny and so upbeat and so ready to take on whatever the world needs to throw at him. Spencer doesn't even fucking know. Sometimes he thinks Brendon is a secret superhero. He thinks Brendon is definitely the strongest person he knows. Except none of that matters right now, because Spencer is going to take the strongest person he knows and put him to bed and make him sleep before he has a mental breakdown in their living room.

"We're going to bed," Spencer says, tugging on Brendon's wrist. "Right now. We're going to pull all the shades down and turn the air conditioning on high and get under the covers and pop a few Tylenol PM's and get some actual sleep."

"Right," Brendon says. He stands up, kicking at the mess, biting his lip like he's not sure he wants to leave it there.

"Leave it there," Spencer says. "Let's go. Bedroom. Now."

"Kinky," Brendon mumbles, on a yawn. Spencer wants to laugh at that, wants to consider the possible ramifications of what they might be doing, but he's too damn tired. If Brendon wants to sleep with him in the same bed, Spencer is all for that. If Brendon wants him to sleep on the air mattress Spencer had brought with them before they left, that's fine, too. As long as it involves sleeping. Spencer's life goals are very small and manageable at the moment.

Brendon's bedroom is a mess, clothing and shoes strewn everywhere. Spencer sweeps everything off the bed, pulling the covers back. "In," he says, and Brendon snorts. He sits down on the edge of the bed, kicking his flip flops off and shucking his pants and shirt in one go. Spencer thinks about averting his eyes, but Brendon's not looking at him, too busy crawling into the bed and flopping into the covers with a sigh.

Spencer thinks, _okay then,_ and goes to turn the air conditioner up. He grabs a glass of water and the bottle of Tylenol PM from the bathroom, and then comes back and hands them both to Brendon. Brendon shakes out two pills, and then hands it back to Spencer, yawning. "Thanks," Brendon mumbles, swallowing them with a large swig of water. "You going to take some, too? You need to sleep."

"I will when I'm going to bed," Spencer says, making sure the shades are pulled.

"What?" Brendon says, punching his pillow into a more acceptable shape. "Why are you staying up? You need to sleep, dude. Come to bed."

"You're—" Spencer says. He stops himself from saying, _kind of naked._ "Do you want me to?"

Brendon raises his head, blinking at him. He looks at Spencer for a moment, and then back down at the bed, and Spencer knows that Brendon is finally connecting the events of the past few days with what is happening here and now, in this room. That Brendon is weighing the choice of having Spencer sleep with him, and moving this forward, or waiting a little longer to see if this is something they really should be doing.

"Come to bed," Brendon says, a little softer. "Just come sleep with me, Spence. It's okay."

"Okay," Spencer says. His stomach is warm, knotted up with anticipation. Not anticipation of sex, or anything—Spencer is pretty sure he couldn't get it up right now if he tried, he's so damn exhausted—but just... anticipation. This is starting. This is really going to happen.

Spencer tugs his sweatpants off, stripping with a minimum of finesse. It's nothing Brendon hasn't seen a thousand times. He hits the lights and then crawls into bed, into the smell of Brendon's sheets and Brendon's skin and that flowery detergent he always uses to wash his clothes because he says it reminds him of being a kid.

"Take the pills," Brendon says, nudging him. They're separated by a mere four inches, and Brendon rolls over so that he's pressed against Spencer, side to side. "I know you. You'll lie here for the next four hours trying to sleep if you don't."

"Yeah," Spencer says. He shakes one out, and then dry swallows it, too tired to even reach across Brendon for the glass of water on the nightstand.

"Is this okay?" Brendon says quietly, curling in and making himself comfortable. Spencer takes a deep breath, pulling Brendon in closer. His chest feels light. He feels like he could sleep for a week, holding Brendon like this. He doesn't want to let go.

"Really okay," Spencer mumbles, closing his eyes. "Kind of the best thing ever, B."

 **—**

"So," Brendon says. "I was thinking." He's standing at the kitchen island, drinking a glass of water while the coffee pot filters.

Spencer stares at him blearily from across the granite countertop. Behind Brendon, through the window, the sun is starting to set. Spencer has no idea what time it is. He's only been awake for an hour, rolling over to find Brendon gone and a Brendon-shaped warm spot next to him. He had a moment of sleepy panic before he realized that Brendon was just in the shower, his muted rendition of Billie Jean filtering through the closed bathroom door. Now Spencer is here, in Brendon's kitchen, and he's still not feeling any more awake than he did an hour ago. Fucking sleeping pills. He'd needed them last night, but he always hates the way he feels afterwards. Like being stoned, but without any of the fun parts.

"Spencer," Brendon prompts him, when it looks like Spencer isn't going to respond. "Conversation. We're having one?"

"Right," Spencer says. He scrubs a hand over his eyes. "Is the coffee done yet?"

"There's probably enough for a cup," Brendon says, crossing the kitchen to pull out a mug from his cabinets. He pulls the pot out, sticking the mug directly under the drip, and then pouring the coffee pot into it so it won't spill. "Here," Brendon says, handing it to him. "Be grateful, dude. This is some eternal love shit we've got going on here, giving you my first cup of coffee and all."

"I appreciate you," Spencer tells him, very seriously. He gulps down half the cup, not caring that it's black and that he doesn't like black coffee. It's less a drink right now than it is a medicine. "Okay. You were—what were you saying?"

"Dinner," Brendon says. "We should get some."

"Don't you mean breakfast?" Spencer says, peering down at his cup.

"It's like, 7pm," Brendon says. "I guess we could go to an all-day diner, if you want, I was just—you know what, never mind," Brendon says quickly. "Let's do that. Let's get breakfast."

"Dinner is okay," Spencer says, frowning. "I'm—no, that's fine. I'm just a little out of it. Can you—do you mind driving?" He feels silly even asking, but Spencer's pretty sure that if he can barely hold a conversation, he shouldn't be getting behind the wheel of a car.

"No," Brendon says. "I was going to offer, anyway. We're going someplace you haven't been before."

"Cool," Spencer says. "Where?"

"It's a surprise," Brendon says quickly, draining his water glass and placing it in the sink. "I'm going to go get dressed, okay?"

"Sure," Spencer says. Brendon leaves, and Spencer continues staring down at his cup of coffee. It feels like his brain is slowly starting to wake up, but he's not quite there yet. There's a few coffee grinds clinging to the side of the cup, and he fishes them out with his fingers, brushing them off on Brendon's counter top. He drinks the rest of the coffee, and then he stands up, stretching out as he crosses the kitchen for more. He makes the second one his usual way—two sugars, non-dairy creamer subbing in for milk because they've been gone a week and he doesn't trust Brendon's milk at all. He's halfway through his second cup when Brendon come back downstairs, his keys jingling in his hand.

"I found my phone," Brendon says, smiling wide and relieved. "It was in that weird pocket in my duffel bag, the inside one. I have no fucking clue why I put it there, but oh well."

"Good," Spencer says, nodding dumbly. Brendon is dressed up. He's wearing slacks and a nice shirt and actual shoes, his hair messed up but still managing to look artsy, somehow. He looks like he's going on a date, except they're just going out to dinner, which is kind of weird, but maybe—

"Are we going on a date?" Spencer says, swallowing. "Are we—are you taking me on a date?"

Brendon pauses, keys still dangling from his hand. "Um," Brendon says. There's a faint blush skimming the tops of his cheekbones. "Yes? I mean. If you want to?"

"Yeah," Spencer says uselessly. Brendon is like, stupid-hot right now. His pants are really tight. And it's not like Spencer isn't used to Brendon being hot, or Brendon in nice clothes, but it's different when it's for _Spencer._ When he can look at Brendon and know that Brendon dressed up like this for _him._

 _I am one lucky motherfucker,_ Spencer thinks wildly, and then he puts his cup down in the sink. "I'll go get ready," Spencer says. "Is this like, a nice place?"

"Not suit-and-tie nice," Brendon says, tapping his fingers against his leg. He's starting to look a little nervous, but he's hiding it well. "But yeah. Nicer than average."

"Got it," Spencer says. He's got a few things that could work, a pair of pants he'd packed and never ended up wearing because it was too damn hot in South Africa to wear nice slacks when they weren't on stage. He pauses by the kitchen door, turning to look at Brendon again.

"You, um," Spencer says. "You look really good." His stomach is back to that tight feeling again, fear and excitement, the adrenaline rush of an emotional free-fall.

"Thanks," Brendon says. The blush deepens. "I just. You know."

"Yeah," Spencer says, and goes to get changed.

 **—**

The restaurant is a fusion place, valet parking and recessed lighting, tiny tables with grooves in them for the silverware. It's weird, and quirky, and Spencer likes it almost immediately. He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, and tries not to jitter too much as they're waiting for their table.

"If you'll follow me..." The hostess says, leading the way after checking their reservation and picking up menus from the front desk. Their table is in a corner, underneath a large painting of a chicken. Spencer thinks about pulling Brendon's chair out for him, but the hostess beats him to it, pulling both of their chairs out and motioning for them to sit.

"You server will be with you in a moment," she says, opening the drink menu so that it fans across the table. "Is there anything you'd like from the bar, to start with?"

"Gin and Tonic," Brendon says quickly. "Tanqueray, extra lime. Thanks." Spencer shakes his head at the hostess's inquiring look, saying he's fine with water. He's finally regained his equilibrium from those damn sleeping pills, and he doesn't want to go fucking it up just yet. The hostess leaves, promising that Brendon's drink will return with their server. Brendon fiddles with his napkin, looking up at Spencer and then darting his eyes away.

"Is this weird?" Brendon says, sounding unsure. "It's weird, isn't it. Maybe we should just—"

"Brendon," Spencer says. He thinks about it for a moment, and then he lets himself carefully—so very carefully—place his fingers on top of Brendon's hand to still them.

"It's a little weird," Spencer says honestly. Brendon's face falls, and Spencer gives him a look that says, _hey, I'm not finished_.

"It's weird because I don't go on dates," Spencer says, not moving his hand away. "Not because of—us. It's weird because I feel like I should be asking you what you do for a living, or something, and, uh, I'm pretty sure I already know," Spencer says.

Brendon cracks a smile. "Right," he says quietly. "Yeah. We've kind of got that one covered."

"Are you freaking?" Spencer says. He squeezes Brendon's hand. Brendon turns his palm over, linking his fingers with Spencer's. He stares at their joined hands for a moment, and then squeezes back, drawing his hand away.

"A little bit," he says. "But—not as much as I expected to."

"Yeah," Spencer says. He doesn't bring up the fact that he's never gone on a date with a guy, or that he doesn't think Brendon has, either. Spencer's generally an equal opportunity kind of guy; people are people, and he's comfortable enough with himself to just go for it if he's attracted to someone. He knows what he's doing when faced with another guy's dick in bed. For Brendon, it's a little more complicated, and Spencer knows that those complications stem less from Brendon being conflicted about wanting him, and more from what people will think of them when they find out. Spencer knows just how much courage it's taking for Brendon to take him out like this, even if Brendon's not going to let on how scared he is.

"Well," Spencer says, when the silence stretches out too long. "Thanks for asking me on a date, bro." Brendon laughs, which is exactly what Spencer intended. Brendon's drink shows up a few seconds later, and there's a pause in the conversation while they peer down at the menu and order appetizers.

"Anyway," Spencer says, when their waiter leaves. "We're not—don't feel like this has to be a certain kind of date," he says awkwardly. "We can just. We hang out all the time, right? Like, we do this all the time."

"We do, don't we," Brendon says, smiling down at the table, his eyes flicking up to meet Spencer's, bright behind his glasses.

"So let's just keep doing what we've been doing," Spencer says, poking Brendon's foot under the table with his toe. "So it's a date, I mean, so what. I think we've been accidentally going on dates for almost four years."

"You think I'm finally going to get lucky after this one?" Brendon says, and Spencer chokes on his water. He coughs while Brendon snickers, sipping his G+T.

"That can be arranged," Spencer says breathlessly.

"Good," Brendon says. "Because that was my general plan. Get you dressed up, perv on you for a while, eat some food, and then go home and do lots of filthy things to you." He's grinning, but Spencer hear can the lingering bravado behind the words. This is Brendon pushing, hiding his fear behind a veneer of self-confidence. Spencer doesn't want Brendon to feel like he has to be brave for Spencer's sake.

"That sounds awesome," Spencer says, trying not to follow that sentence up with something like _you want to get started right now, in the bathroom?_ "We should do that. But—I mean, if you change your mind, that's like. That's okay too," Spencer says. He keeps the words soft, so Brendon will know it's not rejection.

"Right," Brendon says, biting his lip and grinning.

"I mean it, Spencer says, soldiering on. "You don't need to impress me. You want to go home and drink beer and make out, we can do that. I mean, obviously, if you're going to get naked then I'm going to get naked and there's—uh—then naked things will... happen..." Spencer finishes, wondering how that sentence just ended so badly when it was all going so well a few seconds ago.

Brendon is outright laughing at him, snickering into his drink.

"But they don't have to happen tonight," Spencer finishes, trying to recover. "Is what I'm saying. It can happen whenever." His face feels hot. So much for comforting Brendon with his kind words and gentle promises of waiting, like some Victorian maiden or something. Now he just feels like an idiot.

"Thanks bro," Brendon says. His shoulders are definitely more relaxed now, the set of his whole body unwinding. "I appreciate you letting me know we can wait." His mouth quirks up at the corner. "I still want to fuck you, though."

Spencer groans. "Stop that," he says, giving Brendon a Look. "Now you're just doing this on purpose."

"Maybe," Brendon says.

"Have you ever tried to eat egg rolls with an erection?" Spencer says. "Because I'm just saying, I haven't, and I'm not looking forward to it."

"So I should stop talking about fucking you," Brendon says innocently. "Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes," Spencer says firmly. "Yes. We should talk about something else. Anything else. Hey, look, there's a chicken on the wall." Spencer gives the painting next to their table an obvious look. "Let's discuss. Chickens on the walls at restaurants? Yes? No? Thoughts?"

"Fine," Brendon says, setting his drink down as he finishes it. "I'll stop. But only because I'm going to feel bad if your dick gets in the way of your enjoyment of these egg rolls. I'm telling you, they're fucking boss."

"Awesome," Spencer says. He's still a little hard. He can't believe he just got hard in a restaurant from Brendon telling him he wants to fuck. Their appetizers need to get here like, now. He needs a distraction. He swallows. "So," he says. "How about those Cubs?"

—

"Hey, so," Brendon says, dropping his car keys on the side table and not waiting for Spencer to shut the front door before heading into the kitchen. "Do you want a beer? I think I want a beer. Or maybe more gin. Do we have any gin?"

"Brendon -" Spencer says. The meal had been great, and the place had been great, and the company had been great. By the main course, they'd been eating with their feet tangled together under the table, sharing stupid, secret grins over the top of their meals. If Spencer had ever been the kind of guy who'd actually dated, he would have mocked this one for being so ridiculous, but the truth was, it had just felt like a relief. It felt great not to have to fake it anymore.

But then, of course, they'd paid the bill and walked hand in hand back out to the car, and everything had gotten weird and back to front and upside down again, and now it looked like Brendon was hiding from him in the kitchen.

"Brendon," Spencer says again, following him in.

"I can't find the gin," Brendon says, with his head in the fridge.

"That's because we don't keep it in there," Spencer says. "Because that's the fridge."

"Oh," Brendon says, sheepishly. "Right. Okay."

"Brendon," Spencer says, for the third time. "Do you want to tell me what just happened?"

"Nothing happened," Brendon says, dropping to his knees by the cupboard next to the sink. It's where they keep the alcohol they don't drink very often. Usually it's bottles of things that are bright green and melon flavored, or potentially death defying, or things they buy because they want to be more sophisticated than they actually are. Spencer's pretty sure there's a bottle of Bombay Sapphire in there somewhere.

"Right," Spencer says, and sits down next to him, with his back up against the fridge. He bumps his knee against Brendon's. "It's like you think I don't know you or something. Spill."

"It's nothing," Brendon says, with his head in the cupboard. "Why is there a bottle of Smirnoff blue in here? Why haven't we drunk that?"

"I don't know," Spencer says. "Let's do shots now and you can tell me if I did something wrong, because you're being weird and I thought we were on a date."

Brendon sits back on his heels. He looks a little stricken. "We were on a date," he says. "You didn't do anything, except be nice to me and tell me you wanted to have sex with me."

"Right," Spencer says, since that seems like a pretty fair summing up of their evening.

"I'm just, you know," Brendon says, rolling his shoulders. "I'm having a little pre-sex freak out in case you wake up in the morning and hate me or something."

Spencer makes a face. "Do you secretly kill puppies?" he asks. "Do you kick kittens when you think nobody's looking? Because unless you do that, I'm going to wake up in the morning and uh, not hate you." Spencer's not entirely sure that he could hate Brendon even if he did secretly kick kittens, but that's mostly because he sort of maybe loves him. "And I meant it, you know. We don't have to rush into this. Not if you don't want to."

"Ah," Brendon says, and he laughs, a little rueful. "Here's the thing. I can't think of anything more amazing than actually getting to have sex with you, Spencer Smith, and I'm pretty sure if I have to wait another night I'm going to _explode_ , so. I'm thinking, maybe—can we just skip the part where we try and figure out why I'm such a dumb fuck sometimes, and just get to the part where we make out?"

"I thought there were going to be shots," Spencer says, but he curls his hand around Brendon's calf anyway, thumb stroking at Brendon's shin through his pants.

"Another time," Brendon says, and he wraps his hand hesitantly around Spencer's wrist.

Spencer feels like all the air in his body is slowly being squeezed out of him, his chest tight. He can't help but let his gaze focus on Brendon's mouth, on the way he's licking his lips and _moving in_ , and oh fuck - Brendon kisses him. Brendon kisses him sweet and soft and kind of clumsily, but then they are sitting on the kitchen floor by the dog bowls, surrounded by dusty bottles of bright green alcohol and an inquisitive-looking Bogart.

It's kind of stupid. It's kind of perfect.

Spencer makes a tiny noise in response, surprise and pleasure rolled into one. When he pulls back to breathe, Brendon is looking at him.

"Hi," Spencer says, because he can't think of anything to say. Brendon just _kissed_ him.

"Hi," Brendon says, looking slightly sheepish. "Make out with me now, okay?"

"Okay," Spencer says, and then Brendon is crawling into his lap, on the floor. His weight is resting on Spencer's thighs and Spencer distantly hears the sound of a bottle falling over and clinking against the tile floor but he doesn't give a shit because Brendon is kissing him again and his mouth, god. His _mouth_.

Spencer's hands find their way into Brendon's hair, and Brendon groans into Spencer's kiss, thumbs against the underside of Spencer's jaw, tilting his chin back. Spencer just can't think straight. He can't think past Brendon's mouth on his, and his _tongue_ , and fuck, he's wanted this for a very long time.

"Making out rules," Brendon says, kissing the corner of Spencer's mouth, thumb rough against Spencer's cheek. "Let's ignore the fact I freaked out and just make out forever, okay."

"I was kind of thinking we could, I don't know -" Spencer pauses, because Brendon's kissing him again, biting at Spencer's bottom lip and grinning against his mouth, "maybe we could do this somewhere the dog wasn't watching us."

Brendon snorts, shoulders shaking, and Spencer rolls his eyes.

"Bogart," Brendon says, because Bogart is sitting right next to them, head tilted to one side, quizzical. "On your bed, boy, on your bed."

Bogart stares at them in confusion, like Brendon is suddenly speaking a different language.

"Our dog is so dumb," Brendon says sadly, looking at Spencer. _Our dog,_ Spencer thinks, and it's not like he doesn't realize that Bogart practically belongs to him too, but like, fuck. He owns a dog with Brendon. Co-owns a dog with Brendon. Sort of. God, they have been putting this off for way too long.

"Just pick him up and move him," Spencer says, rubbing his thumbs along the curve of Brendon's hipbone, over the fabric. "He's small enough."

"Then I have to get up," Brendon says, nipping at Spencer's lips one more time before standing up and scooping up Bogart. "You're a cockblock," Brendon tells him, lifting him to eye level so he knows Brendon is serious. Bogart licks his nose. Brendon rolls his eyes, dropping him on the doggy bed and then leaning down to kiss the top of his head afterwards. "Stay," Brendon tells him firmly. Bogart whines, and then settles down, curling up with his nose under his tail.

"Don't guilt trip me," Brendon tells him, and scratches his head a few times just for good measure.

"Stop talking to the dog and come make out with me again," Spencer says.

"I thought you wanted to move this party," Brendon says, glancing back over at Spencer. Now that they're separated again, he looks a little unsure. Spencer needs to fix that.

"Okay," Spencer says, standing up and reaching for Brendon's hand. "Come on. Let's go. Bed, or couch?"

"Uh," Brendon says, and Spencer can see him thinking. Spencer can't decide either. Bed says, _this is moving quickly_ , couch says, _this is deliberately not the bed_. "Bed."

That, Spencer thinks, was the right answer. "Okay," he says, squeezing Brendon's hand. He bends down to pet Bogart, and Bogart licks the inside of his wrist.

"Come on," Brendon says, tugging him into the hallway. "I know that I keep being weird about this, but only because it's like, I don't know, really weird to be finally getting to do this. But like, hot. So, can we just get back to the kissing?"

"Sure we can," Spencer says, and he grins and presses Brendon against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. "How about here?"

"Here's good," Brendon says, breathlessly, and his fingertips pull at the collar of Spencer's shirt as Spencer leans in and kisses him again, deliberately slow even though his brain keeps thinking, _fast fast faster_.

Spencer feels kind of lost at sea with everything going on right now, the frantic beat of his heart, the way he hadn't actually meant to push Brendon up against the wall and kiss him over and over again like this, the way he had actually meant to go upstairs and make out with Brendon on the bed.

It's just that it's _everything_. Everything he's wanted and everything they've been moving towards and seriously, everything else in his life is just falling apart. He barely wants to speak to Jon and Ryan right now, and fuck knows what that means for the band, although Spencer has a pretty good idea of where he thinks it's all going to end. Brendon's the only constant in his life apart from his family, and right now they're throwing caution to the wind and risking upsetting even that, and the thing is, Spencer doesn't want to stop. He can't stop, and judging by the way that Brendon's knee is in between Spencer's, and his hands are sliding under Spencer's shirt, tugging it up and away from his jeans - they're both in the same boat.

"Oh fuck," Spencer says, because Brendon is pulling off Spencer's shirt, and this is more than just making out. He's kind of _shaking_ , which is stupid, because this is Brendon, and he's Spencer's best friend, this shouldn't be as scary as it is. Brendon's hands are in the small of his back, and Spencer can't help it. He presses his mouth to Brendon's throat, and slides his hands under Brendon's shirt as Brendon lets out a ragged breath and holds on to him even tighter.

Brendon lifts his arms so Spencer can tug his shirt up and over his head, and then they're skin-to-skin and Brendon makes a quiet, desperate noise into Spencer's mouth. His hands are back on Spencer's hips, pulling Spencer impossibly closer. Spencer is dizzy with want, breathless with it, and Brendon is so hard against him, and Spencer thinks _I did that._ He pulls Brendon in even tighter, and Spencer thinks that if there was any way to get closer, if he could climb inside Brendon right now, he would.

"Fuck," Brendon says helplessly. "Fuck, Spencer—" He's pink-cheeked, flushed and perfect and his dick is pressed up against Spencer's stomach. Spencer wants to taste it. He's so hard and he wants Brendon naked now, here, in this spot and in this moment, fuck the bed.

"Can I," Spencer says, and then gives up on speaking when Brendon kisses him again. He touches Brendon instead, dragging his palms down over Brendon's hips to the outside of his thighs, over the curve of his ass. Brendon groans into his mouth. "Can I," Spencer says again pulling away so he can pant against Brendon's shoulder and try to catch his breath. "Brendon, can I take your dick out?" Spencer says, and then he adds, "Please," because even if he's going crazy with want and lust and confusion he should probably still be polite about it.

"Oh, fuck," Brendon manages. "Yes, please," he says. Spencer spends a moment considering how great it is that they're both so polite, before he realizes what he's doing and fumbles his fingers in Brendon's fly instead, trying to undo the top button when he feels like he's all thumbs.

He just—he wants to suck Brendon off. He really, really wants to suck Brendon off, more than he wants to get Brendon upstairs and onto the bed, or the rest of his clothes off or _anything_. He gets the fly undone, and tries to pull his pants down, but they're really tight and Brendon has to help, shoving them down his thighs and then going for his underwear, but Spencer shakes his head, his mouth dry.

"Let me," he says, and he sounds kind of rough as he touches at the elastic with shaking fingers. He pulls them down, just a little, just enough that Brendon's dick slips free, and Spencer lets out a breath as Brendon's head tips back, hitting the wall with an audible _thump_ as Spencer touches him for the first time. He runs his fingertips over the tip, and Brendon's dick is hot to the touch, already a little slippery beneath Spencer's thumb. Brendon lets out a whine. "Let me suck your dick," Spencer says, and he doesn't care how desperate he sounds, he's wanted this for so long he can't even think straight.

"Oh fuck," Brendon says, in this high, tight voice. "Oh fuck, oh fuck."

Spencer wraps his fingers around the head of Brendon's dick, smooth and wet and warm. He can't stop staring at it. It's beautiful, and Spencer knows that's a weird thing to think about someone's dick but it just _fits_ Brendon, everything in proportion. He's seen Brendon's dick, before but he's never seen him hard. He's never been able to touch him and hold him in his hand and Brendon's skin is so warm, and there's a tiny bead of pre-come perched on the tip. Spencer's mouth is watering.

"Yes?" Spencer says, giving up and dropping to his knees.

"Yes," Brendon says, his chest heaving. He tangles a hand in Spencer's hair, resting it on the curve of Spencer's jawline. "So much yes. Fuck, I've just—I think about this so much," Brendon says, in a rush. "I think about this _all the fucking time_ , and now that it's happening I don't know what to do."

"You don't have to do anything," Spencer murmurs, nosing around the base of Brendon's dick, pressing his face into Brendon's skin and the curve of his hip. The way Brendon smells is driving him crazy. He steadies himself with a hand on Brendon's hip as he closes his lips around the head, and he's right, Brendon is thick and perfect on his tongue and he tastes just as good as he smells.

"All the time, Spence," Brendon whispers, looking down at him. He's cradling Spencer's jaw with both hands, looking overwhelmed. "All the fucking time."

Spencer's never given a blow job that felt anything like this. He just wants to breathe Brendon in, taste every inch of him, learn the way his skin feels against his tongue. He wants to get lost in him, forget everything else that's going on, and just concentrate on _this,_ but he can't, because Brendon's panting as Spencer mouths at his cock, Brendon's fingers brushing over Spencer's cheeks. His thumb rubs at the corner of Spencer's mouth, and Spencer rocks back a little, just enough that he can lick across the tip of Brendon's dick and take Brendon's thumb in his mouth at the same time.

"Oh, fuck," Brendon manages, his voice rough. "Do that again, Spence."

Spencer does it again, taking Brendon's thumb inside his mouth this time, sucking down on it along with the head of Brendon's dick. Brendon groans, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. He rubs his thumb along Spencer's cheek, from the inside. There's spit everywhere, pooling in the corner of Spencer's mouth where Brendon's thumb is stretching it and shining wetly on Brendon's dick. Spencer pulls back for a moment to breathe, and there's a slurping sound when he lets go, the _pop!_ of wet friction.

"You should see your mouth," Brendon says roughly. He rubs his thumb over Spencer's lips, and Spencer takes him in again, sucking on two of Brendon's fingers this time instead of his thumb. He curls his tongue around them and sucks hard, just to watch the way Brendon's eyes darken even further. When he lets them go they're shiny with spit, smearing against his cheek as Brendon holds his head again. Spencer can't remember the last time he took a full breath. He doesn't care. Watching Brendon like this, _tasting_ Brendon like this—it's everything.

Spencer wants to breathe him in. He pulls off, only leaning in again so that he can rub his face into the curve of Brendon's skin, mouth against the base of Brendon's dick. Brendon holds him there, rubbing his dick against Spencer's cheek and this whole thing feels more intimate than any half-clothed blowjob has any right to be, jesus. Spencer licks at the underside of Brendon's dick, pulling back a little so that he can take him in his mouth again, tongue working that spot just under the head. Brendon groans, cradling Spencer's cheek in his hand.

"I jerked off to this when I was seventeen," Brendon tells him, breathlessly. "You were the first guy I ever jerked off thinking about."

Spencer makes a desperate, keening noise of surprise, and he can't help himself, he slides a hand down until he's cupping his own erection, pressing the heel of his hand down against his dick. He fumbles with the button of his pants, but Brendon shakes his head.

"Please," he says. "I want to - afterwards. I want to. Please."

Spencer closes his eyes instead, pulling his hands away and working his jaw so he can take Brendon in even deeper. His cock is throbbing in his jeans, a dull, intense ache. He has to touch _something_ , needs something to hold on to, so he grabs at Brendon's thighs and his ass, steadying himself while he relaxes his throat and takes Brendon all the way in.

"Oh god," Brendon. "Oh my—shit, Spencer, if you, you—I'm going to come," Brendon says quickly, rolling his hips up. His voice is surprised, amazed, desperate with want. "I can't—I want you to keep going, but I'm going to come," Brendon says, the last few words turning into a whine. "You get me so close so fast, just thinking about you, whenever I thought about you, oh god, and now you're—" His hips buck up again. Spencer keeps his eyes open, not wanting to miss a second. Brendon is flushed red and panting above him, helpless little rolls of his hips, his muscles tense and inflexible beneath Spencer's fingers. Spencer wants to tell Brendon everything, wants to say _come on, please, I've been waiting for this, I've been dying for this_ , but he can't. His mouth is too full, and all he can do is moan around Brendon's dick.

Brendon's hands tangle in Spencer's hair. It kind of hurts a little, but Spencer doesn't care because he can feel how close Brendon is, feel the way his muscles are tensing and his breath's coming thick and fast as Spencer whines, low down in his throat.

"Oh, fuck -" Brendon says, in a tight, high voice that Spencer barely recognizes, "Spencer, gonna - fuck, Spence, gonna come -" his hips rock up and then he's coming, and Spencer's pulling back and not even trying to swallow it all. Come slides down his chin, his own spit mingling with it as Brendon strokes his thumb across Spencer's lip, holding his mouth open.

"Brendon," Spencer says, rough and hoarse. He tries to wipe at his mouth but Brendon won't let him, shaking his head and stumbling down onto his knees, over Spencer's lap. He wraps his arms around Spencer's neck and holds on tight, breathless.

Spencer tries to remember how to breathe, but he just can't. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to wipe away the spit and the come but Brendon shakes his head, covering Spencer's mouth with his own. He laps at Spencer's mouth with his tongue, and Spencer whines, trying to rock up against Brendon's thigh and at least get a little friction.

"No," Brendon says, "I want to -"

"Come on," Spencer says, because he's desperate. He wants this so badly, he _needs_ it. He's been waiting for so long. "Please, Brendon -"

"Come upstairs," Brendon says, cupping Spencer's face in his hands, kissing him again. He's pink-cheeked and breathless, and Spencer can't refuse him anything. "Let me take you upstairs."

Spencer nods, stumbling up and on to his feet. Brendon kicks off his pants and slides his hand into Spencer's; they're kissing again even before they're halfway up the stairs.

"We're never going to get to bed," Spencer says, as Brendon pushes him up against the bannister, mouth pressed to Spencer's jaw, hands hot on Spencer's skin, one palm sliding down to rub firmly over Spencer's dick.

"I've been waiting so long," Brendon says. "So fucking long, Spence-"

"I know," Spencer says. "Me too."

"No, you don't understand," Brendon says, his voice a little wild. "I mean like. Forever-long. Since-I-met-you long."

"I know," Spencer says again, kissing Brendon back as hard as he can, holding on to him so Brendon won't overbalance and fall. A tiny part of his brain is telling him that he just accidentally played Han Solo in their very own epic love scene, but he pushes it aside. Joking can wait for, fuck, when Brendon doesn't have his hand on Spencer's dick.

"Brendon," he says raggedly, because Brendon is rubbing at him, squeezing a little, hot, perfect pressure over Spencer's jeans.

"I know, I know," Brendon says, breaking away. "I know. I can't - We need to get upstairs. Now."

"Yeah," Spencer says. He kisses Brendon one last time, a flash of hot wet mouth and a hint of tongue, and then he pushes Brendon back as gently as he can. "I will race you to the bedroom," Spencer says, trying to catch his breath. "Because if we do this any other way I'm going to make you fuck me right here on this staircase." He watches as Brendon's eyes go dark, and then Spencer's leaning in again before he can stop himself.

"No," Brendon murmurs, against Spencer's mouth, stopping both of them just in time. "Not—not for the first time."

"Then we'll race," Spencer breathes. Brendon's mouth is _right there._

"Okay," Brendon says, licking his lips. Spencer wants to kiss him forever. He has no idea at all how they've managed to not kiss each other before tonight, how they've managed for months and months and _years_ , even, to not do this. Brendon darts in and slides a kiss across Spencer's mouth before setting off towards the bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time. He's naked, which Spencer isn't, and Spencer takes a second to just appreciate Brendon's ass before setting off up after him, trying to catch him up.

Brendon's not exactly trying too hard not to be caught, and Spencer wraps an arm around Brendon's waist in the doorway to the bedroom, sliding one hand over Brendon's cheek, tilting his chin up so he can kiss him again. Brendon grins against his mouth, and tugs Spencer over towards the bed.

Spencer follows easily, already reaching for his fly, but Brendon stops him with a hand.

"No," he says. "I've got this."

"Okay," Spencer says, because Brendon undressing him is something that he's fantasized about for a very long time. He holds his hands up. "All yours."

"Finally," Brendon says, fervently, and then he drops to his knees and presses his mouth to the curve of Spencer's dick through his pants, and Spencer hisses in a breath and lets his head fall back. "Wanted this for so long," Brendon tells, undoing Spencer's fly.

"Yeah," Spencer says, because Brendon's breath is hot and Spencer really, really wants Brendon to suck him off. Fuck. Brendon pushes Spencer's pants down, and then his underwear, and Spencer's dick bounces up, red and hard and slick. Spencer lets out a _whoosh_ of breath as he kicks off his pants.

"On the bed," Brendon says, his hand on Spencer's thigh. He pushes him, just a little, and Spencer goes easily. Wherever Brendon wants him. He sits down on the edge of the bed.

"Here?" he says.

Brendon shakes his head. He's smiling, biting his lip. "Lie down," he says, still sounding a little breathless. "There, in the middle. I want to touch you."

"Oh, fuck," Spencer manages, because Brendon's running his hand up Spencer's thigh, and holy _fuck_ , that's hot. It shouldn't be so hot but it feels so intimate, so close. When Brendon presses his mouth to the curve of Spencer's hip, Spencer groans.

"Lie down," Brendon says, again, and Spencer does, because he wants this more than he wants anything. He scoots back on the bed, reaching up to pull Brendon down on top of him, but Brendon wriggles out of his grasp, settling back on Spencer's legs. "I just," Brendon says, drawing his palm up the outside of Spencer's thigh again. "I just want to touch you. Can you hold off? I just want to touch you everywhere—"

"Fuck," Spencer says weakly, because Brendon is running his palm up Spencer's side, stroking Spencer's skin with an expression that's akin to awe.

"I always want to touch you," Brendon says. "I always want to, and I can't." His hands are skimming over Spencer's shoulders, thumbs brushing at the sides of Spencer's neck and then travelling back down again. Spencer feels lightheaded. "I always want to reach out and just—" Brendon says, curving his fingers at the knuckle, dragging his nails along Spencer's skin. Spencer groans, baring his throat at the sensation. Brendon isn't pressing down with his nails; it's just a tease, something to make Spencer shiver. Spencer almost wants to close his eyes, but he keeps them open. He's never felt this exposed.

"B-" he says, and his voice sounds weird, hoarse and kind of rough.

"I just -" Brendon says, and he runs his hands down to Spencer's waist, down Spencer's sides where he's ticklish. He hisses in a breath and wriggles away from Brendon's fingertips. "All the time, Spence," he says, and he runs his knuckles over Spencer's belly, thumb dragging behind. Spencer feels like all the breath has been knocked from his body and he's left gasping as Brendon's fingertip brushes Spencer's cock. "I just wanted to do this all the fucking time."

"Me too," Spencer says, "fuck, touch me, Brendon."

"I am touching you," Brendon says, and he waggles his eyebrows.

Spencer tries to roll his eyes, but Brendon's bending down and pressing a kiss to Spencer's thigh, then the inside of his knee.

Spencer's breath hitches. Brendon's mouth is so soft on his skin, and Spencer's had so many stupid fantasies about that mouth, so many times when he just gave up and locked himself in the bathroom and came while biting down on his own fist so Brendon wouldn't hear.

Brendon lets out a sigh, nuzzling his face along the thin skin on the inside of Spencer's thigh. "The first time I ever jerked off thinking about a guy, I was thinking about this," Brendon says softly, letting his lips drag against Spencer's skin. "We were seventeen."

"Thinking about kissing my leg?" Spencer tries to crack, but it comes out rough and desperate.

"No," Brendon says, his mouth slowly moving higher. "Thinking about blowing you. Thinking about how badly I just wanted to get down my knees for you, if you would even let me. Thinking about how good you would taste." Brendon kisses the inside of Spencer's thigh, inches away from Spencer's dick. "I came so hard I thought I was going to pass out," Brendon says, smiling a little at the memory. "And then I jerked off again, because I still couldn't stop imagining it."

"Holy shit," Spencer manages. "Fuck. I want to see that. You jerking off."

Brendon presses his thumbs into Spencer's skin, and Spencer makes a strangled, bitten-off whine as Brendon licks at Spencer's thigh, so close, but not close enough.

"Please," Spencer says, and he can hear the desperation in his voice, the ragged growl as Brendon nips at his skin. "Please, Brendon. Need to come. Fuck. Want you to touch me."

Brendon touches at the underside of Spencer's cock with his thumb. "Oh, fuck," Brendon says. "Fuck, Spencer."

Spencer's dick jumps, brushing Brendon's hand and leaving a smear of pre-come.

" _Please_ ," Spencer says, and somehow his hands are touching Brendon's face, brushing against Brendon's jaw without his permission. Brendon tilts his head slightly, just enough to kiss the inside of Spencer's palm, and then he's leaning down and taking Spencer into his mouth, just sliding all the way down.

"Oh fuck," Spencer says, trying not to buck his hips up. Brendon's isn't fucking around, mouth hot and wet and tight on his cock. Brendon sucks him down and then he pulls back, wrapping his fingers around the base and closing his lips around the head. He still hasn't broken eye contact with Spencer.

Spencer can't even breathe. He reaches down and curls one hand into Brendon's hair, the other one touching at Brendon's cheek, feeling the shape of his own dick under his thumb and holy _fuck_ , Spencer's been thinking about this a long time, but he just hadn't expected to feel like this. His whole body feels like it's on fire; his hands are shaking. It feels like the longest, best orgasm he's ever had to wait for, and he can feel it building in his belly, anticipation and heat rushing through his veins with every breath.

"I've been waiting so long," he manages, finally, and Brendon's rhythm stutters, just a little. Spencer cups his face and tries to focus but it's too close to the edge. "Fuck, Brendon, I'm going to come." It's like, the shortest blow job in history, and Spencer doesn't exactly want to demonstrate his lack of stamina but he can't hold it off any longer. His orgasm crashes through him like a wave, his hips bucking up and Brendon choking a little, pulling back and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as Spencer continues to come, his dick in Brendon's fist.

"Spencer, _Spence_ ," Brendon says, voice rough, and then he's crawling up the bed and kissing Spencer even though Spencer's too out of it to kiss back. He feels like he's on fire. Sweat slides across his brow and it's a moment before he recognizes Brendon's tongue against his, the taste of Spencer's dick sharp and heavy in Brendon's kiss.

 _I want you to kiss me like this forever,_ Spencer thinks. Spencer's whole body is shaky and Brendon's fingertips are sliding against Spencer's skin, slick with sweat, and he just wants this, forever.

He pulls away, trying to reorient himself to the world around him. Brendon lets him go and then darts back in, one final butterfly-kiss, sharp and bitter.

"So," Brendon says, after a minute. He's sprawled out on the sheets next to Spencer, but Spencer's still riding the come down, heartbeat slowing a little as he rubs at his forehead with the back of his hand. "I feel like I've been waiting for that forever."

Spencer huffs a breath, shifting a little on the sheets so that he can meet Brendon's eyes. There's something shuttered in his gaze, something he's hiding, but Spencer's known him for too long. He cups Brendon's face in his hand, and leans in to press a kiss to the corner of Brendon's mouth. "You don't have to wait any longer," he says. "I'm kind of yours." It's not the kind of thing he says to people all that often. It's not the kind of thing he's ever said after one date or one hook up before, but Brendon's not other people.

"The band -" Brendon says, because Spencer knows him well enough that he needs a moment to not discuss what Spencer's just laid out for him.

"The band is kind of fucked," Spencer says, and it's the first time he's said that out loud, too. There's an ache in his chest, but he pushes it away. _Not tonight,_ he thinks. "But we'll ride it out. Like a wave."

Brendon snorts, burying his face in Spencer's shoulder. "Like a wave," he says.

"Big wave," Spencer says. "Big wave of...something. Shit, I lost the metaphor." Brendon snorts again.

"We'll figure it out," Spencer says again. He runs his fingers through Brendon's hair, brushing a few stray strands away from his eyelashes.

"Yeah," Brendon says, but he doesn't sound convinced. He's still tucked into Spencer's shoulder, and Spencer wonders if he's hiding from the reality of what they just did, or the reality of the fact that their band is imploding in front of them. Maybe it's both. Spencer can relate. He wouldn't mind hiding for a while; just sticking his head in the sand, letting everything happen around them. The problem is that they've all been essentially doing just that, pretending that everything is just fine, no problems here. Spencer can't remember the last time any of them even had a real conversation, let alone picked up instruments and tried to work together. They're so fucked.

"I'm not going anywhere," Spencer says, after Brendon hasn't said anything. "No matter what, B. I know it's all—shit's all fucked up. But I'm not leaving."

"Yeah, because I'd punch you in the face if you did," Brendon jokes, but it's weak and lacking force. "Not just everyone gets a blowjob like that."

"I didn't mean us," Spencer says. "I meant the band. I'm coming with you." It hurts to say it out loud. It feels like a punch in the face to everything Spencer's ever taken for granted about him and Ryan, even if they've grown so far apart. "If you leave," Spencer says. "I'm coming with you. And then it will be just us."

"Us," Brendon says softly. "Yeah. Okay."

"Yeah," Spencer says, after a moment. Brendon's fiddling with the pillowcase, worrying a thread. Spencer curls his fingers around Brendon's, and Brendon lets out a breath and slides his hand into Spencer's.

"Yeah," Brendon says, again. "You're not getting rid of me so easily, either. I'm like crazy glue."

"Sexy," Spencer says, rolling on to his side. He lets his hand rest in the small of Brendon's back, and Brendon lets out a breath, shuffling closer. Spencer wants to touch him everywhere. He doesn't, he's too sleepy after coming. He kisses Brendon's cheek instead.

"So," Brendon says, meeting Spencer's gaze head-on. "This thing that we're doing. We're doing it?"

Spencer doesn't know whether Brendon means the band or sex or them and their co-parented dog. It doesn't matter; the answer's the same either way. "Yes," he says, and Brendon's smile echoes his.


End file.
